


Returning Home

by Katybug1992



Category: Newsies - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Puerto Rican Racer, Sprace hits in Chapter 2, assorted characters mentioned, kind of sort of not really In The Heights AU, not dialog heavy, sad Racetrack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-28
Updated: 2019-04-28
Packaged: 2020-02-09 04:42:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18631036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Katybug1992/pseuds/Katybug1992
Summary: Racer's first year of college did not go the way he, and everyone else, thought it would.





	1. Breathe

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by "Breathe" from In The Heights

Racer took a deep breath as he stepped off the subway, adjusting his duffel as he made his way up the block toward home. Looking around, nothing had changed. The streets were relatively empty as it was only six in the morning and tourists tended to avoid this part of the city. Why go that far north in Manhattan when you have Time Square and Central Park? But this was home. 

He smiled at everyone he passed, all of them stopping him for a moment to tell him how proud they were of him, how they just knew he was going places. He would respond with just a smile and a simple thank you. After all, the greeting of “Hey guys, it’s me! The biggest disappointment you know!” was going to be reserved for his family. It would only be a matter of time before the neighborhood found out that he couldn’t hack it and was back for good. He kept his pace slow, wanting to put off getting home as long as he could, hoping that others just saw it as him relishing in being home.

“Just breathe,” Racer told himself as yet another familiar face welcomed him home.

He walked past store fronts, old boleros drifting out as the radios played, bringing back memories of Racer learning the dance form so prevalent in his birth parents’ culture. He thoughts back to when he and siblings seemed to rule the neighborhood. But while Jack got chased out of the bodegas for causing mischief, Racer was praised. 

When Race left for his freshman year at Stanford, the neighborhood seemed to shut itself down to say their goodbyes. The old ladies on the block, there own children long gone from the neighborhood, hugged him, whispering, “Ay, te adoro, te quiero” before passing him off to the next one in line. At the airport, Medda, his own mother, had pulled him into a crushing hug, saying, “Tony, be brave and you’re gonna be fine” before he pulled his duffle from the trunk and headed into the airport, head held high. It felt like a lifetime ago. What was he supposed to say to these people. These people who spent his entire life telling him that he was going places. ‘Just breathe’, he thought to himself as he walked past the church he grew up in.

“Mira,” one of the nuns beamed, “No me preocupo por el.”

“Mira, alli esta nuestra estrella,” another one smiled fondly.

He was always a favorite of theirs. He would ask question after question and soaking in all the knowledge he could. When it got too loud at home, which it was bound to do with five teenagers, and the school or library weren’t open, he would pack up his school bag and take it to the parish, where he would set up camp until Medda came to bring him home so he could actually get some sleep before school the next day, or to make him take a break.

No one in his neighborhood ever worried about him. They all counted on him to succeed, to bring pride to their community. He was the one who made it out. He made it to Stanford. He was going to do amazing things. Maybe be a lawyer, or a doctor, something to bring prestige to their block. He consistently finished first in his class, every year since fourth grade. He always got top marks and heaps of praise on every test, paper, and project. But maybe he should have just stayed home, where he knew he could succeed. He could have just started teaching at the dance studio right out of high school.

But he knew that wouldn’t have done anything for him. When he was a child, he would stay up long after his siblings went to bed, then climb out of his window and up the fire escape, to the roof of their apartment, above the theater Medda owned, restless to be out, to climb higher than where he was previously. He would look out over his neighborhood and dream of being better, bringing pride to the people who helped Medda raise him and his brothers.

He worked his ass off. He got every scholarship he applied for, including a particle one from Stanford. From the minute he was old enough, he convinced Senorita Maria to let his work in the dance studio, going from sweeping and cleaning, to clerical, to teaching a couple classes quickly. She paid him more than was necessary and he saved every penny of it. 

He was the first one of Medda’s kids to ever go to college. She had been a foster parent for years and none of her kids had ever expressed an interest college. Racer was the first one and she had been so proud of him when he brought it up. He insisted on paying for it himself, she had his four other siblings and herself to take care. She didn’t need to worry about him. Now, he had to walk in there and tell her that he couldn’t go back. That he lost his scholarship because his grades had slipped too low due to him not having enough time for school work after he worked two jobs to pay tuition. That he had been all but forced to drop out because he wouldn’t be able to afford it. He didn’t know how to tell anyone that he was home for good. He got to the top of the hill and looked over to the George Washington Bridge, asking himself, “Gee, Tony, what’ll you be?” 

He collected himself as he neared the theater. He straightened his spine and smiled for the neighbors. Everything was fine, everything was cool. They didn’t need to know. They would stop him and ask him how school was and would give the standard reply of “Lots of tests, lots of papers”, then smile and wave goodbye, the person speaking to him easily letting him move on, knowing how much Medda missed her Star.

Racer was terrified. He knew he couldn’t keep this from Medda, not after everything she had done for him. His parents had moved to Washington Heights, almost right next door to the theater, from Puerto Rico when Race was five. When they had both passed away in a car crash, Medda spoke to the case worker who was about to take Racer with her. Medda only had Jack and Charlie at the time and was more than willing to take in Race. Over the years, the three of them stayed with her, watching the others rotate out. About ten years later, she got Romeo and Jane, who Racer had nicknamed Smalls due to her being shorter than average. 

But Medda had been Racer’s biggest supporter, doing everything she could to help him. Now he had to go in there and tell her that he was a failure. That he had aimed too high and had let everyone down. Oh, God, what was she going to say? After everything she had down for him, how could he go in there and say, “I know that I’m letting you down…”?

“Just breathe,” He told himself as he saw Medda step out of the theater, her face lighting up when she saw him. His steps were slower than he thought was normal, and she was all but running to him.

“Tony!” She beamed, eyes shining with happiness at him being there. He hadn’t been home since leaving, a plane ticket way out of his price range and he insisting Medda use her money on herself and his siblings.

“Mom,” he choked out, dropping his duffel and all but collapsing into her arms, tears finally falling and sobs racking his body as she hugged him fiercely.


	2. When You're Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spot welcomes Racer home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by "When You're Home" from In The Heights

Racer had been home for a week now and was still feeling completely lost. He hadn’t really left the theater, which really had been an improvement since he spent his first two days shut in the room he shared with Jack and Crutchie. He told Medda what happened and she simply said that she was proud of him for telling her, that she knew how hard that was for him, and that she would support him no matter what he wanted to do. She hadn’t pressured him to come up with a plan, she simply let him be and told his siblings not to bother him.

His first time outside and he found himself sitting on the steps of Maria’s studio, listening to the music float out into the street, when Spot Conlon found him. Spot could read him almost as well as the rest of his family. They had been almost a thing before Racer left to go to the other side of the country.

“Hey,” he spoke, sitting down next to Racer on the stoop. The blonde boy had always captivated him. 

“Hey,” Race replied with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. A smile that worked on everyone but those who knew him best. He forgot that Spot was one of those people.

“What’s going on in that big brain of yours?” Spot asked him, bumping their shoulders together.

“I used to think we lived at the top of the world, when the world was just a subway map and the 1 slash 9 climbed a dotted line to my place.” Racer replied, eyes down.

“There's no 9 train now.” Spot pointed out with a chuckle.

“Right,” Race replied with a laugh, rephrasing his thought, “I used to think the Bronx was a place in the sky when the world was just a subway map. And my thoughts took shape on that fire escape.”

Spot knew that fire escape well. There would be many nights when he would be walking home and would see the blonde out on the fire escape, staring out toward Manhattan. He would watch him, sometimes, until Racer went back inside. Other times, he would bring attention to himself, on one memorable occasion, quoting Romeo and Juliet to get the blonde’s attention.

“Can you remind me of what it was like at the top of the world?” Racer asked Spot, giving the other boy a peek into just how lost he really felt.

Spot grinned in response and took his hand, running them down the block, stopping when they reached a heavily graffi’ed fire hydrant, “We start here. Do you remember it?”

“Yes,” Racer laughed brightly, “You would open it every summer.”

“I would take off toward the theater when I heard the sirens coming,” Spot grinned, happy to see light in Racer’s eyes.

Racer let out what felt like his first genuine laugh in a long time. He remembered it clearly. Spot would come tearing into the studio, panting out that they were coming to get him. Medda would let him in, chiding him and telling him, “You need to be more careful, Sean.” 

Spot would grin up at her, always in constant trouble, before heading to wherever Racer was and they would spend the rest of the afternoon backstage, Race’s attention focused on his school work and Spot’s attention focused on Racer.

“It was easier then.” Race sighed, brushing his fingers over the top of the fire hydrant.

“Tony, everything is easier when you’re home,” Spot replied, pulling Racer down the street with him, “I have somewhere else I need to show you and I’m sure Miss Medda wants you home before dark.” 

Ever since he found out that Racer was home, everything seemed clearer. He was pretty sure it was just him. The world was always brighter when he was around Racer. It may have been his imagination, but he didn’t think the sun had shone this bright since Race left for California.

“Castle Garden?” Race took a shot at guessing.

“Good guess, but no,” Spot shot him a grin, “By the way, I don’t think I said it. Welcome back to town.”

Race brushed off the comment, saying, “Now, back in high school when it darkened, you'd hang out in Bennett Park and -”

“Tommy would bring his radio.” Spot smiled, pleased that Racer remembered that. He had always been too busy with school and work to join them.

“As I walked home from the library, I'd see you rapping with your buddies.” Race laughed, recalling the scene that played out every day it wasn’t too cold.

“With the volume high.” Spot grinned, “You’d walk on by.”

Even though Racer never had time to stop, Spot would serenade him until Racer was out of the park, walking next to him improving his rap of the day around the blonde.

“It hasn’t been the same without you, Tony.” Spot replied, pulling down the fire escape to one of the tallest building in the neighborhood, gesturing for Racer to head up and followed him, the two of them settling on the roof to watch take in the view. After a moment, Spot said, “You know, everyone here is cheering you on.”

“Don’t say that.” Race’s mood drastically shifted.

“What’s wrong?” Spot asked, turning to face Racer completely.

“I don’t know who I am anymore,” Race replied, “I always thought I knew. I mean, I used to think about what would have happened if my parents had never left Puerto Rico, who I would have become if I had been raised there, if I had never seen Manhattan. And I have spent my whole life trying to find the answers. I worked my ass off, I learned Spanish, I learned everything I could about the culture of my people.”

“For some reason I thought that I might be able to find the answers to my questions at Stanford. But I just got more lost, more confused. So, please, don’t say you’re proud of me when I’ve lost my way.”

Spot thought for a minute before replying, “Then can I say: I haven’t been able to get my mind off you ever since I heard you were back. I could barely get my mind off you while you were gone. And I know this: When you find your way again, you’re going to change the world and then we’re all going to brag about you. You’re a star and you’ve always shown too brightly for this neighborhood.”

“Until that day comes, I think I’m happy to be home.” Race replied, smiling over at Spot, “If not happy, then relieved. I think I finally feel settled again. And I want you to know that there was no one in California that came close to you.”

Spot took his hand and kissed the back of it, keeping his eyes on Racer even as Race turned his attention back to the Hudson, which reflected the start of the sunset. He gave it another five minutes, relishing in the comfortable silence he missed so much, before standing up and saying, “Come on, I’d better get you home. Don’t want to get on Miss Medda’s bad side.”

“She doesn’t have a bad side.” Racer laughed, but he stood up anyway, letting Spot lead him back down the fire escape.

The pair walked back to the theater in silence, fingers laced together as they walked. Race pressed a kiss to Spot’s cheek before saying good night and heading inside.  


“Welcome home, Tony,” Spot breathed out after the boy was inside, grinning widely as he made his way home, planning out where he wanted to take Racer next.


End file.
